


Purpose

by nikkixsensei



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:16:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25503517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkixsensei/pseuds/nikkixsensei
Summary: Post 6x18 – "The Brockton College Killer". An unexpected conversation results in Dembe returning to Red's side. Who does he meet with?
Relationships: Raymond Reddington & Dembe Zuma
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

_"_ _I've followed your path long enough. It's time I followed my own._ _"_

Turning away from Raymond was difficult on its own merit. Factoring in the heavy footsteps of his father – his brother and dearest friend – as the room's occupants decreased from two to one, the sequence of events became all the more excruciating.

Never before had he felt such a profound sadness and despair.

A weight lifting from his shoulders was the anticipated outcome, and yet in the wake of separation Dembe encountered the precise opposite. It wasn't easier to breathe; it was harder. He didn't stand so tall; he collapsed. The silence and emptiness of his part-time living space were suffocating. Suddenly, he was a child again, helpless while watching the slaughter of his family and then dragged away to a province unknown to him at the time.

He'd done the right thing, hadn't he?

The answer to his quandary existed within the physical ramifications.

Contrary to earlier exchanges at the Temple, it wasn't so much the taking of one life after another that he could no longer stomach – plenty were taken by his own hand over the course of decades in service of a mission that didn't belong to him and yet became his reason to live. Rather it was the destruction of Raymond's soul, the one he had dedicated his life to preserving and restoring, as a consequence and the growing cost incurred through each action that he couldn't.

_You don't need my forgiveness ever because, when it comes to this, you can do no wrong._

_I appreciate that, Raymond. But I can't forgive you._

The inability to forgive, he realized now as he pulled into the paved driveway, was a pretext.

For so long, Dembe aspired to preempt the day in which recognition of the man he stood shoulder to shoulder with, fought beside, bled with, and bled for didn't surface. Present circumstances coupled with his departure demanded its arrival – there was no stopping it. So he clung to what seemed to be the only option within reach.

To disappear, sever all ties.

But to what end?

With every decision comes the opportunity to acquire knowledge. That philosophy served him well, until now that is. Now that he found himself more lost than ever, what was there to gain? What did he take away from it all? Turning the ignition, his gaze averted to the passenger seat where his leather duffel bag rested, a ticket to Cairo strewn across the top.

Apart from the obvious, what was he missing?

Why keep an article of a path abandoned in plain sight?

Opening the car door, Dembe stood and took a breath, retrieving his luggage with an equally tentative motion. He scanned the perimeter per routine. Sensing nothing out of the ordinary, he approached the property's front door.

Three feet became two.

Two became one.

Clenching his right hand into a first, he knocked and waited. Soon after, almost too quickly truth be told, the door opened. His eyes met hers, the surprise there apparent, and he found his voice first.

"Hello, Isa."

* * *

Having deposited various articles of toys and clothing into their proper locations and secured the locks for the front as well as back door, Isabella Zuma climbed the staircase and pushed open the door to her daughter's room. She was careful, not wanting to wake her. The adage pertaining to time, particularly how quickly it flies, she found to be true.

Weeks from now, Elle would be turning five.

Every moment was precious, and she ensured to savor every one while at the same time shielding her child from the realities, often harsh ones at that, accompanying their lives. After putting her daughter to bed, she found herself either rooted in front of the television scouring news outlets or reading periodicals, all of which focused on the man she loved and regarded as a second father, night after night spanning several months now.

'Raymond Reddington' and 'the death penalty'.

The two didn't warrant placement in the same sentence. To her, he was 'Papa'. The portrait constructed in her mind, memories and other tangible goods being the foundation of such an image, didn't in any way resemble what media agents were depicting him to be.

Had he done terrible things?

Yes.

But her experiences with him were anything but. His value, what he brought to her life, was immeasurable. Instantly, her thoughts wandered to the day of Elle's birth. Every aspect of that day was perfect. Her not being in a traditional hospital didn't matter and was of minimal consequence.

She had a great medical team.

Best of all, the two men who comprised her entire world were with her, at her side: holding her hands, rubbing her back, speaking words of encouragement, and even sharing her tears. Never had she felt more loved and supported.

The detail in her mind's eye was so vivid, crisp.

For a moment, she found herself in that makeshift medical wing again.

She succeeded in bringing a new life into the world, her family tree gaining a new branch. Any pain or discomfort melted away in catching the first glimpse of her daughter's tiny form. Her father grasped her hand tighter in that moment, his gaze similarly transfixed. Papa's eyes alternated between them before pressing a kiss into her hair.

"I'm so proud of you. Congratulations." He said.

Her breath caught at the emotion in his voice.

Isabella looked at him then. Silent tears coursed down his handsome face, and she brought the palm of her hand upward, wiping away the moisture. When first learning of her pregnancy, she and Dembe knew the months ahead would be difficult for him, the memories that her state would evoke.

Instead of pain, Raymond responded with even more affection.

"Thank you."

Neither she nor her daughter would want for anything.

Ever.

Sinking into his embrace, Dembe rounded the table, cut the umbilical cord, and held her daughter – his grandchild – for the first time.

Time stopped when Elle was transferred to Raymond's arms. He was so selfless and good which made his seemingly resigning himself to never experiencing joy similar in degree difficult to digest. However, watching him look at Elle with so much adoration, she realized that he had in fact found it again.

Their family of four was his purpose – his heart was full.

He deserved the best life had to offer.

There wasn't a doubt in her mind about that.

In turn, developments as of late were distressing to get a grip on. She and her father spoke every night; sometimes, they managed to speak multiple times a day. Occasions such as those made it impossible not to loathe the distance between them, however vital it was to 'keeping her safe'.

There had to be something she could do, she countered.

Isabella offered to help with the investigation, but of course Dembe assured her that all was taken care of. Just her unwavering love and support were enough to sustain both his and Raymond's hopes. Though not fully satisfied, she settled for that and directed her energy to knowing of every facet: his arrest, his transfer from one holding facility to another, the court proceedings, and underlying conspiracies in play. Not even the botched escape attempt followed by the public perception of one went without conversation.

How did this happen?

The more she examined her father's accounts and what was being relayed through other sources, the more she dwelled on that question – and the more she worried. Speculation typically wasn't a base to operate from, but it wasn't hard to put two and two together.

No one was more careful, more vigilant, than Raymond, but not even he was immune to weaknesses.

_She_ could hurt him.

Something else was going on.

A knock on the door interrupted her train of thought. Isabella looked to the clock; it was near midnight. Only one person would be at her home this time of night. She raced to the front door and pulled it open, revealing Dembe. Her knees buckled; she felt unsteady on her feet.

Had her worst fear come true?

Was her Papa no longer part of the world?

What was she going to tell Elle?

How could they function without him?

Dispelling those thoughts from her mind, she quickly composed herself, determined to stay as tough as possible for her father and her daughter. But she had to know.

"Is he – "

"No, Isa. Raymond is fine. He's alive."

Immediately, she was relieved. On the other hand…

"Then, what are you doing here?"


	2. Chapter 2

They spoke for more than an hour.

Dembe began by relaying Elizabeth's participation in Raymond's arrest as well as her collaboration with the now-departed Jennifer in accomplishing that – the event serving as a launch pad for their own investigation into his prior identity. When pressed further, he continued by revealing how he kept the knowledge of her culpability from Raymond even as he was certain to die and only later held Elizabeth accountable in the matter.

_You must tell him, Elizabeth. Because if you don't, I will._

The ultimatum came about as a result of Papa initiating a quest of his own, determined to find out who turned him in. Smokey, who she had limited interactions with but liked just the same, was among the casualties. Others used his imprisonment as opportunities to advance their own agendas which were a strong contrast to the causes Raymond held dear and respected, availing themselves freely of his resources – financial, fleet, and property based.

As the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, she didn't blame Raymond at all or feel sympathy for any of those lives taken. There was a code – a set of principles – that allowed him to survive, making everything they had possible in the process. The element that disturbed her most was what precipitated the fallout between the men she loved.

"You lied to Papa! How could you? How could you choose her over us? Our life? What makes her so important that you would jeopardize us?"

The back end of her inquiry clearly surprised her father.

"Is that what you think I did?"

"No, it isn't what **I think** you did. It's what **I know** you've done." She paused, taking a breath to calm the emotions battling for control.

Shock.

Disappointment.

Anger.

"Papa forgave you?"

"He did."

"Even when he didn't have to?"

Her father stared back, not quite following her assessment. "Didn't have to… Isa, what I did was no different from what Raymond would've done, what he has done for years. Sometimes, I lose sight of just how deep his regard for her runs, but continually he protects her even when it means putting his own interests aside – he's put his own life on the line for her."

She shook her head. "You truly don't see, do you?"

"See what?"

Isabella scoffed. "The two of you are so much alike. As eloquent as you both are, it's your actions that actually communicate and reveal the most. His protecting Elizabeth is one thing, but you went beyond that."

"How so?"

"When he learned of the part Elizabeth played in this mess, or when you confirmed what he suspected all along, how did he react? Was he angry, sad, or a combination of the two?"

Dembe took a moment, thinking. "He was distraught and angry, furious actually. He went on to say to Elizabeth that he would likely never believe her again."

"And later, before he left for Dom's, what did he talk about with you?"

"Raymond spoke of divided loyalties, how they interfere or can interfere with my capacity to carry out the tasks he entrusts me with."

"Such as?"

"His life. He trusts me with his life and all that's dear to him. I mentioned Elizabeth in a similar context, and the exchange quickly went south."

"Of course it did."

"Why?"

"Since 'context' is a popular word…" She paused, collecting herself. "I've been generous where Elizabeth is concerned, but that stops now. That part of my life is over. For Papa's sake, I will be civil when – or if – she's in our company again. But I will not sympathize or empathize with her. She isn't worth it."

"That's not how you were raised."

Isabella concurred. "You're right. I was taught to see the good in everyone, find the positive outcomes in every situation. Be present. Look out for those who have helped you along the way, and always – **always** – take care of your family. There is no good, no positive outcome, in being present for Elizabeth. She doesn't care who she hurts so long as she gets whatever she wants at the time. She's constantly changing her mind. She trusts people one minute and blatantly deceives them the next, and I'm supposed to care about her?! She's the one whose loyalty you felt was more important to honor?!"

"Isabella!"

"No! Hear me out!" Rarely did her father raise his voice at her, but she stood firm, pounding the table with her open palm. Taking another breath, she resumed. "A couple of years ago, she faked her death. Papa was so devastated. Do you remember that?"

Dembe nodded.

How could he forget?

"Do you remember his going off to be alone, how scared we were after not hearing from him, the hours Elle cried every day as we waited? Almost a week elapsed without word. When Elizabeth re-surfaced **alive** weeks later and couldn't escape a situation she created for herself, who had to go and rescue her? Instead of taking responsibility for her poor decisions, who did she blame? Did she ever apologize to him, to you, to her friends and colleagues for her deception? No, because no one expects that – demands that – of her. Then, after conspiring with Kate who was also on the wrong side of the equation, she sees some ridiculous DNA report and makes nice. All's forgiven, her war forgotten. Next, her husband dies. She sends Agnes off to live with the equivalent of a stranger, and another round of casting aspersions begins. Again, Papa was a wreck, and you just stood by. You said nothing."

"It wasn't my place."

"You're wrong. It was your place. You were in a position and had every right to voice objection if not for your own sake, then for his – as well as Agnes's. Papa and you took such great care of that little girl, and she didn't appreciate any of it. She never said 'Thank you.'. Now, we have this…stunt! The hits just keep coming and coming, and it's exhausting. Elizabeth hurts the people I love time and time again. **She hurt my family**! Sacrificing himself so that others may live is part of Papa's fabric – that quality makes him who he is. I love him for that. Yes, he keeps secrets, but he doesn't deserve to be treated as if he were disposable or replaceable. Because he's neither of those things, at least not to me. I thought he meant just as much to you too."

"I owe Raymond my life."

"So **choosing her** , **keeping her secret** … Were they worth Papa's life? Just because he has the courage to offer his life doesn't mean she deserves to have it. Protecting her made his dying permissible. That's what your actions – your lie – told him."

The silence stretched between them, her words sinking in.

"I never considered that."

"Why do you think I'm disappointed?"

_My word is my bond. And before I break my word, I will give my life._

"I broke my word, Isa. Worse, I broke Raymond's heart."

They shared a knowing look.

Isabella reached across and grasped one of her father's hands. "His isn't the only one that's broken. Do whatever it takes to make it right."

"I don't know how."

"Maybe that plane ticket tucked in the side pocket of your duffel is a good place to start."

"Perhaps..." He trailed off, squeezing her hand. "The violence and death. I worry for his soul as well. I worry that he'll disappear"

"Walking away is no solution. Papa has his reasons. That's all I need in the form of 'explanation' or 'understanding'. He knows what he's doing. Trust his judgment – I do. And he won't disappear so long as we're here for him."

Dembe chuckled. The sound was refreshing.

"You're insightful, intelligent, and beautiful. How did I get so lucky?"

"Two men raised me proper."

**THE END**


End file.
